Patrick Jane's New Case
by Sirius Black's Best Friend
Summary: Oneshot Vocabulary story I had to write for school. Rated for some violence. First story ever written. Please R&R!


**Disclaimer: I do not own Detective Patrick Jane. He is a character from "The Mentalist." This is fan fiction and is not based on a true story. **

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**Being a subordinate wasn't the best job, as Fred knew very well. He was a cashier at a local drug store. Sometimes, he had to deal with the giddiest of people. His job was not optional, though, because he didn't have enough money to quit. It was all about to become far worse.

At the same time, a young man was sauntering down the street. With a maniacal grin on his face, he walked into a small drugstore and reached his hands into his jacket pocket. With steady hands, he quickly raised a gun and fired a shot across the room. Screams pierced the air and people ran for cover. The man proceeded to steal some drugs from behind the counter, and then he left. Everything was as it had been before. No one had noticed the poor cashier lying wounded behind the counter.

People had already phoned the police and they were now coming around the corner. They jumped out of their vehicles with guns raised and marched swiftly into the store. As they went inside, they took in the scene. Broken glass was everywhere. Then they spotted the body. The cashier was unconscious and there was a puddle of blood surrounding him. A team of doctors took his body in an ambulance and quickly rushed him to the emergency room.

The EMS screamed past confused drivers, sitting behind their tinted windows, as a great deluge poured out of the sky. All the while, the doctors were trying to save Fred. The impact of the bullet going into his body had been tremendous. They were afraid that they were going to lose him with all the blood that he had lost. Parked in the lot outside, they brought him upstairs to an empty room.

Several hours later, Fred regained consciousness and found himself lying on a soft bed. He remembered all of the gory details. Since his family was dead, he was surprised to see a man sitting next to him. The man had curly blond hair and a grey suit. His eyes were brown and looked slightly amused for come reason. He had a small smirk on his face that made Fred scan his body self-consciously. He almost moaned aloud when he realized that he was in a hospital dress.

The strange man introduced himself as Detective Patrick Jane and held out his hand for Fred to shake. Fred accepted the gesture but he sighed internally. He'd had his experience with detectives before, when his parents had died. He knew that they could be extraordinarily frustrating at times and not in the least sympathetic.

However, Fred knew that it was the detective's duty to be here. After all, the police weren't going to let a crime such as this go. He wondered to himself what the criminal had been intending to do. It had all happened so fast that he hadn't had time to take in the scene.

Fred asked Patrick, "What happened? What did the man want?"

Patrick's smile grew wider as he said, "The doctors told me that you remember almost everything that happened. You didn't miss that much, actually. As soon as that man shot you, he went back behind the counter and stole some pain killers. He ran out of the store, leaving the witnesses unharmed, which has been a great help to the police and myself."

"There has been a dilemma, though," continued Patrick. "Bear in mind that there were only five people present at the scene of the shooting. There were two elderly people and their children, not the ideal witnesses."

"And those were the screams I heard, I suppose?" said Fred.

"Yes, that was them," stated Patrick. "You are lucky that they had the sense to call the police. Now, back to what I was saying. None of them were able to give a decent description of the shooter. I thought that you might be able to help us. An artist wants to come in and draw a sketch of the criminal. Have you ever done this before? The doctors don't really want me to bother you yet because they thought that you might be a feeling a little sluggish, but I thought that I'd leave the decision up to you."

Fred nodded and added, "Yeah, my parents were murdered and I was one of the witnesses there, too. I'm not tired. Actually, it would make me feel better to have some one to talk to."

"Great," Patrick said, as he made his way toward the door. "We'll rendezvous here in a couple of hours. Get some sleep. It would be a shame if you fainted during your interview."

The dull sound of the door closing announced the end of the detective's visit. With nothing else to do, and no one else to talk to, Fred did the only logical thing that there was to do. He laid his head back against the warm pillow and turned off the light at his bedside table. Despite what he had said earlier, Fred fell asleep outright.

A light snapped on and a creak from the door awoke Fred from his sleeping state. Two people strolled in. One was the obvious figure of Detective Patrick Jane. The other was unknown, but Fred decided that he must be the artist, seeing as he carried an easel at his side.

Patrick told Fred that the man's name was Jacob Leonardo. He had a lean body and ear length, straight, black hair. His glasses were perched precariously on his nose, on the verge of falling to the ground. Fred expected him to have a nasally, complaining voice. He was surprised to find that this was not the case at all. It was deep and somewhat reassuring. Fred reasoned that this was probably to keep the victims of the crime calm when he was talking to them.

The easel was unfolded at the side of his bed and Patrick sat down beside it. Leonardo took the tackle box that he had been carrying and opened it up. It revealed a number of paints, markers, and pencils. He selected one and began the questioning.

"Now, I want you to relax. Don't worry about what I'm doing, and don't be distracted by it," said Leonardo. "Can you describe the man to me? Use discretion when explaining what he looks like.

"Well, he was tall, an intimidating height of six feet. He was kind of fat, too. His eyes were the worst, though. They looked insane, like he wasn't all there. I'm not quite sure how young he was, maybe twenty," he said, peering around the easel to see what the artist had drawn so far.

Leonardo was busy trying to keep up with what Fred was telling him. When he was finished, a stunning master piece was placed on his lap. Leonardo had taken the liberty of coloring it. The picture was now an exact replica of what the criminal had looked like. Fred almost jumped out of his hospital bed upon seeing it.

"Was that the man that you saw?" asked Patrick. "We wouldn't want to bring in the wrong person and misrepresent them."

"This is the man. You can ask any of the witnesses. No one can deny that this is the shooter," Fred confirmed. "Are you going to stay a while? I slept while you were gone, as you suggested, so I'm fully rested. How long was I unconscious for, anyway?"

"You've been out for three days. I'm surprised that you didn't ask sooner, since that's usually the first question we get," said Patrick. "If you're not tired, and if you're not weary of my company, I'll stay and ask you some more questions."

Leonardo said, "Are you sure that you're allowed to stay, Detective? Didn't your team want you back at the police station, or something?"

"I forgot about that. Sorry, Fred. Do you think that you can survive this boredom while I'm gone? I really should go. The last time I stayed to talk to a victim, my captain nearly skinned me alive. I'll be back." Throwing a last farewell, Patrick headed for the door.

Once out in the parking lot, Patrick took out his keys and began to walk to where his car was parked. He turned around, pulling out his gun. A man with a tall, rotund figure stepped out from behind one of the millions of parked cars. Patrick immediately recognized him as the shooter from the drawing.

"Good evening," said Patrick politely. Deciding to test the man, he said, "Can you help me? I can't seem to find my car."

"I realize that you know who I am and what I have done," said the gruff voice of the criminal. "I've decided to cede. I will come quietly with you to the station and I will plead guilty."

"Why are you telling me all this?" questioned Patrick. "Haven't you ever heard of the Right to Remain Silent? You're right, though. I do recognize you."

With that, Patrick manacled the man and put him into the back of the car. He drove back to the police station and went into the questioning room with him. Patrick sat down opposite him and remained silent as the man revealed his story.

"My name is Edward Morgan," he began. "This all started about a month ago. My brother was killed in the army, fighting for our country. I was overcome with grief. In my desolation, I started doing things that I never would have done. It was after my brother's death that I became addicted to drugs, particularly pain killers. Using them brought me an escape from the anguish that overwhelmed me."

"An hour before the shooting took place; I got really high and swore to myself that I would avenge my brother. I went into a drug store and shot the first person that I saw. I decided that I might as well steal some drugs, while I was at it. Then I ran away. I felt really guilty, when the drugs wore off. I finally decided to turn myself in. I would like to add that I am terribly sorry about this and I'm willing to accept any punishment given."

"There is no way to liberate you from the feeling of guilt," said Patrick. "But I know that you will have to be arrested. The punishment may be variable, given the state that your mind was in. The judge might consider putting you into rehab." He picked up his files and walked out of the door.

A week later, the trial was held. Morgan was put into rehabilitation and recovered well. He stopped using drugs and was able to get over his brother's death. Fred also improved. He was scarred both emotionally and physically. He returned to school, at a local university. After several years, he got a good job working as an FBI agent in New York. He became the best detective in his unit and was promoted several times during his career. Fred finally retired when he was forty-five, but continued to be an active part in the community that he lived in.


End file.
